


To the Kitchens! ...and girls.

by Starla-Nell (Princess_Nell)



Series: The Bournshire Boys [14]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Flirting, Pranks and Practical Jokes, oblivious Alistair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 12:21:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14915283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Nell/pseuds/Starla-Nell
Summary: Alistair gets Cullen in trouble, but it might just be worth it.





	To the Kitchens! ...and girls.

**Author's Note:**

> This occurs in 9:25 Dragon. Alistair is about 15, Cullen about 14.

One morning on a study day, Cullen found himself staring at some diagrams, not really taking much in. This is important, he told himself, beating the shield angles against his unyielding brain. Studying to be a templar was amazing, but sometimes one does need a little variety. He glanced over at Alistair, who was scribbling briefly, staring into space, and scribbling again. Cullen got the urge to throw something, just to see how the older boy would react. Instead, the bored recruit grasped at the first subject his 14-year-old brain came up with to distract them.

“Hey, Alistair, why aren’t there more girls in this school?”

Alistair looked up from his notes. “There are girls. And women. You see them every day.”

“No, why don’t we have female people, our age, here in this school?”

Alistair raised an eyebrow. “Well, I expect because most women who want to give their lives in service are studying elsewhere to be Chantry leaders.”

Cullen’s frustration boiled over. “Ugh. They should study here. It would be nice to have some girls to talk with once in a while.”

“Wait, to talk with or to – talk – with?”

“What are you on about?”

Alistair shrugs. “You’ve never shown interest in boys. I’m asking if you are interested in girls… for plea-sure.”

“Ew, the way you say that is gross.”

“But I’m right, aren’t I? You don’t want to talk with girls, you want to – you know. Kiss them.”

“Alistair, not everything is about kissing.”

“No, some things are about groping!”  

“Ugh, never mind.”

“Maybe we should practice on each other. We could make a killing charging the female recruits admission.”

“Alistair, we don’t have any female recruits at this school. That’s my point!”

“Oh, right. Never mind then. I’ll think of something else.” Alistair turned back to his homework with a grin, and Cullen forgot all about it.

###

That afternoon, preparations were complete. Alistair carefully strolled back to his room. After closing the door behind himself, he announced: “Okay, Cullen, it’s all set.”

“What are you talking about? What’s all set?”

This was too perfect! He’d forgotten their discussion that morning! “I told you I’d think of something else, and I have. Now, no matter what, I need you to see this through to the end, or you will never get the grand reward.”

“Reward?”

“Yes,” Alistair savored Cullen’s confusion, then mercifully added, “Didn’t you say you wanted to talk to young women our age?” He gestured toward the hallway. As expected, Cullen paused for two beats, then grabbed his purple leather jerkin to head for the door.

For once, Cullen was following. Alistair found a good spot on the – what were these? Battlements? There, he handed Cullen a bag and pair of scissors, dug out from behind a statue along the way. “Hold this and wait here for me.” He kept his own equipment. Cullen wouldn’t need much.

“What? Alistair! Where are you – ”

“Do you want to meet the lovely ladies of this fine establishment, or don’t you?”

“But – ”

Cullen would never follow along with what was next. Better to pick him up later. Alistair had been looking for the perfect opportunity to do this prank for too long for Lawful Anal here to mess it up. “Consider this an order. Just – trust me. Stay here.” He turned on his heel and trotted down a short flight of stairs to the ground and through the door into the Sisters’ quarters without checking to see if Cullen would follow.

###

Cullen had been left at the top of the stairs between the courtyard and a walkway on the castle wall. Snow dusted the corners of the courtyard and walkways, blowing in occasional gusts of wind. The air was crisp and clean, the sky cerulean blue with fluffy white clouds. Rhythmic counting disrupted the sound of dead leaves rattling in the courtyard oak; Cullen walked to the low wall/rail to watch the small class practicing sword forms below. A few people walked around, this door to that. Cullen amused himself imagining what business would result in each path. That was the Chantry, so those doors might open to the balconies the lay sisters stood on during the Chant. They had come from the barracks, on the opposite side of this walkway.

Soon Cullen grew bored of this amusement and turned his attention to the tools Alistair had given him. The bag was terribly light for its bulk. He looked inside and found it full of feathers. “At least they’re clean,” Cullen mumbled to himself. It would be a shame to be accused of some sort of blood magic. Could you even do blood magic with chickens?

Just as Cullen was having this ridiculous thought, two of the female candle-lighters from the Chantry come through Alistair’s door and up the stairs. Cullen saw them every week, but always from a bit of a distance as they lit candles during the service. Seeing them this close was a bit of a surprise, even if that was the promised prize. Maker, thought Cullen, what if they talk to me? I have no idea what Alistair told them… As he worried, they glanced at Cullen and giggled to each other, but continued on their way. “I sure hope that wasn’t part of Alistair’s plan,” he muttered.

Speak of the archon and he shall appear. Just as the candle-lighters closed a Chantry door behind them, Alistair came barreling through the door he’d last been seen disappearing into, feathers sticking out of his clothing and hair. He ran up the stairs and past Cullen, shouting, “Go! Go!” with a large Sister behind him, covered in even more feathers, catching up fast. She took one look at Cullen, turned, and shouted behind her, “He’s got an accomplice! They’re over here!”

“Maker, Alistair, what have you gotten me into?!?” Cullen dropped the scissors and ran after Alistair as fast as he could. As they ran along the walkway, Alistair shouted, “Dump the bag!” Cullen tossed it over the stone rail. Amazingly, the bag opened on its way down and scattered floating feathers evenly throughout the courtyard, adding another layer of white to the snow.

\---

They were caught. Of course they were caught. Where would they go, when Alistair’s victims knew where they slept? Cullen thought murderous thoughts about knowing where Alistair slept, too, as the two of them were chewed out by Sister Moyra: “ _If_ you are to become templars, you are to _conduct_ yourselves as _gentlemen_ , at _all_ times. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Sister.” They chorused.

“You will be working in the kitchens for the next week. You will not use this as an excuse to miss class.” Sister Moyra glared at Alistair. “Or Chant. You will start immediately.” Thus dismissed, Alistair led the way toward the kitchens.

As they trotted down the outside stairs, Cullen groused, “Feathers in the courtyard? Are you mad? What was that supposed to accomplish?”

“I hate scouting pots,” Alistair started.

Cullen wasn’t listening: “Look what you’ve gotten me into. Trust me, he says, trust me! And now we’re scouring pots!”

Alistair suppressed a smile. “Well, we’re not yet…” He held the door for Cullen, then took the lead again.

“We’re on our way! It’s fine for you, you get in trouble all the time. This will go on my permanent record!”

“Permanent record. No one looks at that once you’ve taken your vows. ‘Your life changes,’ and all that. No one’s going to say, hey Cullen’s up for High Commander-Pants, let’s have a look at his permanent record before we decide.”

Cullen groaned, head tilting back into his hands as they crossed the empty mess hall.

“Look, Cullen, they won’t look because they won’t _care_. All that they’ll care about is that you’re a good leader and a good man. Show them that, and this won’t matter.”

“What were you trying to do, anyway? What went wrong?”

Alistair stopped at the door to the kitchens and turned to face his roommate. “Wrong?”

“Yes, wrong. What happened?”

“All according to plan.”

“According to – ”

“I wasn’t lying, you know. I _really_ hate scouting pots.”

“What?”

“Not what, why. ‘Why,’ you have to ask yourself, ‘if Alistair hates scouting pots so much, why hasn’t he learned his lesson?’ In other words, why do I keep getting into so much trouble?” Alistair looked pleased with himself. Cullen suddenly recalled the last time he was at the kitchens. Before he fully realized Alistair’s brilliance, the cheeky kid opened the door. The smell of baked bread, herbs, and roasted meat wafted out on a wave of feminine laughter. The Promised Land.

“It’s Alistair!”

“Alistair’s come to scrub my pots again, has he?”

“Milady, I would love to scrub your pot, but you never give me the opportunity.” The door closed behind him, muffling the din within.

Cullen stared at it, blinked once. “Huh.” And walked in.

\---

“Oh, look, he brought a friend!” a delighted, feminine voice enthused. Suddenly Cullen ached to talk to his sisters again, then the rest of his family.

“Excellent. He can peel potatoes,” said a woman with a cloud of black hair pulled back into a ponytail and the slightest hint of an Orlesian accent. From her bearing, she was in charge.

Cullen groaned. His mother’s axiom about never trusting a skinny cook ran through his head, but he wasn’t about to say it out loud.

“That’s Chef Francine’s secret psychic power,” Alistair whispers in a hiss. “She knows, just by looking at you, what kitchen chore you hate.”

Francine shrugged and turned back to her chopping. “It’s a gift.”

“One you put to admirably merciless use, my dear.”

“Speaking of which, get to it. Lileas burned the stew. We haven’t had time to scrape the coal off the bottom, and we need that pot for nug stew tonight. Good that you showed when you did.”

Alistair smiled at her. “Your convenience is my only consolation in my misery.”

“Aw, Francine, don’t say it was me! He’ll think I’m a lousy cook, then.” Lileas looked at Cullen.

“Naught but ambrosia from this kitchen, Lileas my love,” Alistair reassured her as he took up the scrub brush and commandeered some hot water.  

Senga said, “Alistair you’re so sweet. Did you get enough pie for lunch?”

Francine interrupted before Alistair could answer. “Senga, don’t give him extra food again.”

“Chef, I would never!” Senga turned to Cullen and winked, “But when I throw the leftovers out back, I might wrap them.”

“And what’s the friend’s name?” Lileas fluttered her eyelashes at Cullen.

Alistair threw a hand over his heart. “I’m sorry, maladies; I was overcome with seeing you again and forgot my manners. Cullen, the illustrious and delicious ladies of the kitchen. Ladies, Cullen.”

Francine handed him a paring knife. “Yes, well, Cullen, remember you’re here to work. Lileas, get him set with the potatoes.”

Cullen cringed the pile of potatoes, five hundred at least. “I thought my family ate too many of these,” he muttered. “Never thought I’d be peeling potatoes as part of my Templar training.”

Lileas giggled as she dragged the waste bin over for the peelings. “You should have thought of _that_ before you followed _him_ into battle.”

Cullen looked into her brown eyes and his heart skipped a beat. _What was that?_ “I remember you. You had a ham. You got us cheese and candles when I first arrived.”

“Was that you?” Lileas’ surprise was feigned. So she remembered him. “Well, I hope whatever trouble he cooked up was worth it.”

“May-maybe it was, at that.” Cullen looked away, anywhere but at her, and then back at her.

She looked pleased. “Well, here’s your first potato. The sooner you start, the sooner you’ll be done, right?” She held the vegetable a heartbeat longer than needed.

Cullen smiled back. There it was again. That flopping feeling in his chest. _Is she smiling at me? She’s just smiling. No, it’s a bigger smile when she looks at me!_

\---

Crossing the courtyard on the way back Alistair asked, “Well, what do you think?”

Cullen was still thinking about Lileas. “Think? About what?”

“About Antiva.” Alistair rolled his eyes. “About the kitchen ladies, of course.” He looked terribly anxious for some reason.

“Alistair, you are still no leader of men, but – ”

“But?”

“Just this once, that was brilliant.” They mounted the stairs up to their floor of the barracks.

“Yesss!” Alistair pumped his fists in the air. “I thought you’d love it once you were down there!” A Chantry sister appeared at the head of the stairs. “And my hands are _still_ pruny from all that water,” he groused, showing Cullen his hands. She passed them, smiling a bit. He bubbled over with excitement again as soon as she was out of sight. “So, who’s your favorite? Isn’t Francine a hoot? She pretends to hate you, but she doesn’t, really.”

“I dunno. Lileas?”

“Really?” Alistair raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. She … looked good, don’t you think?”

“Well, they _all_ look good. Hey, let’s eat some of the pie!” Alistair produced two waxed-paper packages from under his loose clothing. Some time, Cullen would have to ask him how he carried things like that. Was there a special pouch?

“You actually got pie?”

“She didn’t _really_ throw it out the back door, you know.” Alistair began unwrapping the pie. “Hey, they snuck some cheese in here, too!”

Cullen smiled and took the pie Alistair offered.

 


End file.
